Don't Try This At Home
by Quix
Summary: How Handsome Tom Riddle Became Snake-Faced Lord Voldemort. The strange and rather bizarre account of an Animagus attempt gone wrong. Extra chapter uploaded! Comes with a Dark Lord, a nymphomaniac Narcissa and Lucius' make-up.....
1. Of Potions and Ponces

Disclaimer: I do not own the Dark Lord.  I do not own Lucius Malfoy.  I do not own the Death Eaters.  He, and almost all of the other characters belong to J. K. Rowling.  I think I own the dilapidated castle on the Siberian Plains… but the Russians might have something to say about that.

Oh, and I borrowed the "Death always comes for wizards" and the way Death speaks (in capitals) from Terry Pratchett. 

DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME 

Or: "How Handsome Tom Riddle Became Snake-faced Lord Voldemort." 

* 

Lightning split the night. Thunder rolled along the frosty plains. The gusty wind howled across the snow, whipping up glittering pieces of ice in its trail. The wind churned past the Siberian Plains, and came to a dark, forbidding castle in the unliveable heart of icy Russia. 

The castle loomed high above the plains, its monstrous shadow blackening the snowy ground. In one of the ominous, stone walled towers, the flickering red glow of a fire could be glimpsed through the arrow-slit window. 

The flame of a candle sputtered in a sudden breeze. The icy wind entered a lofty ceiling-ed chamber. Inside, a black-robed figure stood at a simmering cauldron, stirring bubbling ingredients. A man paced up and down the room in tortured impatience, his black cloak swirling around his feet with each long legged stride. His booted feet formed a rhythmic pattern across the stony floor. 

Caught by the gusty wind, his cape billowed around him. 

Nineteen-year-old Voldemort grabbed the edges of his cloak and rewrapped it around himself. He sneezed. "I think I'm getting a cold," he said.

The wind swirled away grumpily. The cape-conveniently-billowing-out-in-the-wind was the villain's cue to laugh a truly evil and insane laugh. Dark Lords today, it grumbled to itself, before blowing off to the professionals in Transylvania. 

"Mr Zacheroy?" Voldemort said. 

The figure at the cauldron dropped to his knees, pressing his face to the floor. "Yes, my Lord?" he asked the stones. 

"Zacheroy, I am currently formulating my plans to take over the world with the evil forces of Darkness, correct?" 

"Yes, Mighty One," came the reply. 

"And in the meantime, you are now culminating the brewing of an Animagus potion, which you have been working on for years, and will have finally finished in exactly nine minutes and twenty-two seconds, yes?" 

"O Master, you are indeed very wise," Zacheroy said to the floor. 

Luckily, young Voldemort did not understand the meaning of sarcasm, or the innocent stones would have been hit by a falling corpse. 

"And until I bend the people of the world to my service, my faithful Death-Eaters must visit me in a place of safety, where none shall see them?" Voldemort continued. 

"Correct again, O Powerful One." 

"But why," Voldemort said, "does a place of safety have to be a dilapidated ruin in Russia, in the middle of the bloody, thrice-damned winter? Why can't we go somewhere warm, like Hawaii?" 

Frederick Zacheroy stood up. The whole kneel-on-the-ground-and-press-your-face-to-the-floor routine was just for the look of the thing. He used to lecture at Oxford, and found it easy to slip back into his now-listen-to-me-young-man tone. 

"My Lord, before serving you, I was Grindlewald's right hand man. My forefathers have served Dark Lords since my most illustrious ancestor, Mortimer Zacheroy, was the closest confident of Salazar Slytherin himself!"

"Mm," said Voldemort, glancing at the potion.  When one is the Heir of Slytherin, one is not inclined to be quite so impressed by his name.

"As you can see, my Lord," Zacheroy continued, "My line and I have _experience_ with these things, and the greatest power of a Dark Lord is the fear that his name generates. Gloomy castles, icy breezes, billowing capes and wicked laughter- these are the things expected of an evil wizard. If you saw the Dark Lord lying on a sunny beach in board shorts, sipping cocktails from coconuts, exactly how much fear would you feel? None!" Frederick answered himself. "Which is my point, precisely." 

He paused, glancing at Voldemort's ivory-white skin. "Although, my Lord, you could use a tan." 

"What?!" Voldemort shouted.  "Are you insulting my looks, you miserable worm?" 

This Dark Lord was exceptionally handsome, and proud of it.  Voldemort admired his reflection in the cauldron's shiny surface. With thick black hair, a clean profile, and bright blue eyes framed with long, dark lashes, the Dark wizard had the looks to be vain about. He was also very self-conscious. Frederick had once seen Voldemort use the Killing Curse on a Death Eater who said he looked tired. 

Zacheroy abased himself upon the ground. "I meant no offence, I swear it, Lord! Forgive my presumption! You are perfect, my Lord! You are the most handsome, powerful, strong, graceful, sexy-"

"Enough!" Voldemort sneered, though slightly mollified.  "I'll catch you listening to the Village People next..."  He trailed off, distracted by his own reflection.   He preened in front of his makeshift mirror, besotted by his own image. 

"Um, my Lord?" Frederick said. 

"What?" Voldemort snapped, reluctantly distracted from himself. 

"The potion is almost ready, my Lord. After the Animagus potion is brewed, you will have less than a minute to drink it safely. There is dragon's blood in there, Lord, and it could have an unknown effect on you after the allotted time."

"What sort of effect?" Voldemort asked curiously. 

Zacheroy swallowed, nauseated by the memories of the gruesome pictures that adorned the Animagus books he had studied. "Well, my Lord, you could end up being a human-sized animal, or an animal-sized human. Or, when shrinking yourself, you can...lose...parts of your body. Or," and here Zacheroy had almost thrown up when he saw the pictures, "You can end up spliced between two images, one human and the other.. whatever animal you become. It's not pretty, my Lord." 

"Hmm." Voldemort considered the danger to his looks. Then he shrugged, in an uncharacteristic acceptance of the danger. "If the Transformation is to be soon, I had better contact my Death Eaters immediately, hadn't I?" he said. 

"The Death Eaters, my Lord?" Frederick asked, surprised. 

"Of course, you fool! They must be here to watch my glorious transformation..."  

Voldemort reached across the bubbling cauldron, seizing Zacheroy's left arm. He pulled up the Death Eater's sleeve, bearing the familiar skull and serpent mark on his forearm. The Dark Lord touched his Mark. It blackened with the press of his fingers. 

"Now all we have to do is wait," Voldemort said with satisfaction. "Soon, they shall all be here to watch me become a serpent, the very embodiment of the Heir to Slytherin." 

"My Lord, the animal you become is the one you share the most traits with," Zacheroy said. "You cannot be sure that you will transform into a snake." 

"A cobra," Voldemort said. "I will be a cobra. Cobras are underhanded and predatory, violent, malicious, cunning, devious, deceitful, and lethal. Just like me. Just like all snakes. I share many traits with serpents. We are exactly the same." 

No you're not, Frederick Zacheroy thought to himself. Snakes are intelligent. 

"My Lord," he said, "I am merely warning you that you cannot be certain. The Animagus Transfiguration can also go wrong if the victim- I mean the  Animagus- does not bend to the shape that suits them. You could be stuck in between, my Lord, if you try to become a cobra when your ideal shape is a cockroach, or a gopher." 

"A cockroach?" Voldemort whispered dangerously. "You think that I share traits with a cockroach?" 

Yes, Frederick thought. "No!" he said quickly. "Of course not, my Lord! I merely used it as an example." 

"Or a gopher? You think that I would be a gopher?" 

Zacheroy paused. "It's the teeth," he conceded reluctantly. Voldemort's face turned purple with rage. 

"Is the potion ready yet?" he asked. 

"Yes, Master," Zacheroy replied. 

Lightning flashed, and thunder rolled, because there are traditions to keep up when you are an Evil Dark Wizard. 

"Good," Voldemort said, ignoring the obliging weather. 

A ring of Death Eaters Apparated unnoticed behind him, in a ripple effect like a Mexican Wave. 

"Good," Voldemort repeated. "Because I am _sick_ of you! Telling me I need a tan! Calling me a- a- _cockroach_! Worst of all, insulting my teeth!! AVADA KEDAVRA!" he bellowed. 

In a flash of green light, Frederick Zacheroy's corpse fell onto the stones. 

"Much better," Voldemort said. "I never did like that prat anyway. 'Frederick Zacheroy!' What a name!" He laughed. 

The surrounding Death Eaters laughed as well. There's nothing like the threat of instant annihilation to get the group laughter going.  It's amazing what a wand in the hands of a powerful and psychotic wizard can do for morale.

********************** 

Frederick opened his eyes, to find that it was just as dark as when they were shut. Somehow, although the darkness was impenetrable, he managed to make out a tall, robed figure making its way towards him. Its hand- or rather, the bones of its hand- were wrapped around the handle of a scythe, the metal gleaming bright and sharp. The figure looked suspiciously familiar. 

"Have we met before?" Frederick asked. 

The skeleton paused. DO YOU BELIEVE IN REINCARNATION? 

Frederick shook his head. 

THEN NO, the skeleton replied. 

Frederick squinted at it. "You look familiar." 

YOU MAY HAVE SEEN ME ON THE BACK OF A TAROT CARD, it said. 

"I am a wizard, sir. I do not believe in that nonsense." 

BLOODY WIZARDS, the skeleton muttered. HERE IS MY I.D., it said, handing him a dog-eared Tarot card. 

Frederick looked at the picture. Then he looked at the scythe-holding skeleton in front of him. Then he read the name beneath the picture on the card. 

"So you are- you are-" 

DEATH. PLEASED TO MEET YOU. UNFORTUNATELY, IT WILL NOT BE FOR LONG. 

"Why are you here?" Frederick asked. 

Death was puzzled. WHEN A WIZARD DIES, IT IS ALWAYS I THAT COMES FOR HIM. 

"Then why are you here for me?" Frederick asked stupidly. 

BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD, MR ZACHEROY. 

"Dead! But- but-" 

SEE FOR YOURSELF, WIZARD. 

The darkness disappeared, and Frederick found himself back in the draughty chamber, in the dilapidated castle, in the centre of Russia, in the middle of a thunderstorm.   The scene was set for Voldemort to drink the potion, and become an Animagus. Frederick watched, stunned, as Voldemort dipped a glass vial into the cauldron, and raised it to his lips.  

He barely registered the sight of his own corpse lying forgotten on the ground.   "Voldemort can't drink that yet! The potion isn't completed! I still have to say the last charm to temper the effects of dragon's blood!" 

SO? ISN'T THAT THE MAN WHO MURDERED YOU? WHY SHOULD YOU CARE IF THE POTION DOES NOT WORK? 

"I happen to have a sense of pride in my work, thank you!" Frederick snapped. "I spent years brewing that! Now it won't work, and all my effort will be wasted! Voldemort will get himself spliced and-" He paused, mid-rant. "Actually, that's a good thing." 

SO SORRY, said Death. I CAN'T LET YOU STAY AND WATCH. PLACES TO GO, PEOPLE TO SEE. YOU KNOW HOW IT IS. The skeleton swung his scythe, and Zacheroy's soul floated free. 

*****

Meanwhile, back in the world of the living..... 

Voldemort raised the vial to his lips. In a grim, silent circle around him, the black-robed ranks of the Death Eaters watched silently. Voldemort drank the potion. A fork of lightning split the night sky. And Voldemort Transformed. 

His skin became scales, his teeth fangs, and his arms and legs disappeared. His thick, dark hair became the Cobra's crown, and his blue eyes turned red. Voldemort rejoiced. He was becoming a cobra, the King of the Serpents. Then, suddenly, something went wrong, and Voldemort felt his body returning to that of a human. His arms and legs returned, and he felt himself growing again, scales changing back to skin. 

Then the potion stopped. With Voldemort in the middle of a Change. He had been quite neatly spliced. 

**

In the Netherworld, an old university lecturer with a prattish name began to laugh. 

**

So did the Death Eaters. Voldemort glared at them, and the laughter stopped immediately when his servants saw the murderous glint in their Master's now red eyes. 

"What has happened?" he asked the nearest Death Eater. His voice came out strangely high. 

The Death Eater started laughing again. "You sound like a girl!" he said. 

Voldemort lost the little grip on sanity he had ever had. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he screeched shrilly. Green light flashed. A body fell. 

Despite the instant death of one of their number, two more Death Eaters laughed at the repeat of Voldemort's new soprano voice. More green light lashed. Two more bodies fell. 

Voldemort's eyes fell on another Death Eater. "Lucius! Give me your mirror! Let me see how bad it is" 

Malfoy flushed as everyone's eyes fell on him. "I don't have a mirror, Lord," he said. 

"Yes, you do!" Voldemort said impatiently. "It's in the fourth compartment of your make-up box, between the No.12 lipstick: Rose Dawn, and the eyelash curler." 

"Oh, THAT mirror," Lucius said, his face bright red. He reached inside his robes, and drew out a huge box. He handed it to the Dark Lord. 

MacNair elbowed Lucius. "Is all of _that_ your make-up?" 

"What? No! That's just my travel bag. The rest of my cosmetics fill a room in my Manor..." Lucius trailed off when he saw the looks he was getting. 

Voldemort peered inside the bag, unzipping compartment after compartment. Finally, he found the mirror. 

"It unfolds and becomes full-length free standing, Lord," Lucius said. Voldemort fiddled with the strange mechanisms. 

"Here, let me," Lucius said, retrieving his mirror from Voldemort's now spider-like hands. He pressed the very familiar gadgets, and a wall-covering mirror unfolded. 

"It is done, my Lord," the Death Eater said, retrieving his cosmetic bag from the Dark Lord. 

"Hmm? Oh, thank you, Lucius. By the way, you're out of Compact Beige Powder#2." 

Closing his eyes, Voldemort turned to face the full-length mirror. While the Dark Lord's attention was distracted, his followers used the opportunity to stare at the monstrosity he had become, with the same sick fascination that compels us to turn around to see a car crash, or watch an episode of Jerry Springer. 

While Voldemort's eyes were thankfully closed over hideous red eyes, his servants stared at his new image. It had been a clean Splice. The Dark Lord had been crossed very effectively with a cobra, and he now had a snake's smooth skull, red eyes, pasty white complexion, and, of course, soprano voice. The Dark wizard was lucky that he'd managed to keep his arms and legs. 

Still standing in front of the mirror, Voldemort drew a deep breath, and opened his eyes. 

"Bugger!" 

*************************************************

Pigeons are birds that are really quite twisted

Their many oddities are bird-lover-listed

A lesser-known fact's that they're _quite_ the connoisseurs

Yes, pigeons are sculptured art appreciators.

And when they enjoy, they let the world know

Through a gift left behind, on the head, heel or toe,

But you (I hope) are of the human race

And if _you_ enjoyed, well, then, please grace

The box below with a sentence or two

Come, Gentle Reader, please leave a review!

*************************************************


	2. Of Malfoys and Makeup

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

This is just a short little addition inspired by Eyra Dragonsworth's review, who suggested I write a fic entirely about Lucius' makeup. *bows*  Plotless, but then who ever heard of a plot when wizards and make-up are combined?  PG-13 for sexual innuendo and nymphomania.  Takes place just after the events of Chapter One.

L'Oréal Is A Wizard's Best Friend

Malfoy Manor loomed high and forbidding against the crimson sunset.  The sinking sun cast a glow upon the mansion like flames and blood.  Rays of light escaped into the Manor, red pooling into dining rooms, drawing rooms;  the red light scattering on the chandelier of the great ball room and dancing around the floor in ruby patterns.

And the light pierced into other, hidden rooms.  Through chinks in the bricks and gaps between bars, the fiery sunlight seeped its way into secret places, where all memories were of pain and suffering.

Yet there were more rooms, that no sunlight would ever enter.  Dungeons hidden so far underground that day did not exist there, and night was the constant reality.  Here, in the deep places of the earth, darkness was forever.  Yet the old darkness had been startled out of one of these chambers, for light shone in it as brightly as the noon sun.  The walls were mirrored and a single lamp reflected light back and forth into infinity.  

Here, hidden behind a labyrinth of wards and traps, the Lord of Black Magic held secret conference with his disciple.

And Voldemort, the Dark Lord, spoke unto his follower:  "Lucius, that shade really is too bright for you."

The Death Eater in question pouted through rosy red lips.  "Well _I_ think it accentuates my cheekbones."

"But it makes your eyes look smaller."

"Does it?  Oh no!"

*

The sun sank slowly into the West, the evening stars began to shine, and night blanketed the land.

Narcissa closed the curtains, changed into her flimsiest lingerie, and then eventually fell asleep waiting for Lucius' return.

*

In the underground cosmetics room, time was endless.  Neither Lucius nor the snake-like Dark Lord were aware of the passing hours, for the house elves supplied all their needs, and both were too excited to be tired.  It seemed that part of Lucius' motivation in joining the Death Eaters was to serve a man as enthusiastic about cosmetics as himself.  

Even if that man was currently in dire need of a make-over.

"Lark Rise eye shadow with Pink Flamingo blush?" Voldemort said.

"You don't like it?"

Voldemort tilted his head to one side.  "No… it works.  Imaginative choice."

"Thank you.  And I think this Shepherd's Dawn lipstick would do wonders for you."

"Really?"

"Yes," Lucius said, "It really brings out the colour of your eyes… oh."

*

The sun set on the second day in a mundane show of yellow and pink.  Disappointing, especially considering the crimson performance of the previous night.

Narcissa decided that someone should get an image consultant for the sun.  Such unenthusiastic shows did nothing for its popularity.  Narcissa was also dimly aware that she was going slightly mad.  No Lucius for two days now.  Even the house elves were starting to look appealing.

*

"Here, my Lord," Lucius said.  "Bronzing Lotion.  Should restore a healthy glow to your appearance."

Voldemort eyed the substance doubtfully.  "I think it's a little dark for me."

"My Lord, _everything _is a little too dark for you."

Voldemort stared dolefully at his bone-white face in the mirror.  His face took on the expression of a kicked puppy dog.

"Oh, ah, never mind, my Lord!  Here's a nice black wig… come, put it on… oh much better!  You look very nice, my Lord."

"Where did this come from?  I didn't know you ever wore wigs, Lucius?"

"I don't, my Lord.  I got it for you especially.  I'm quite fond of my hair," Lucius said, touching a blond lock proudly.

Voldemort's face crumpled again as he touched his own hairless skull.

"Oh dear," said Lucius.

*

The third sunset was also rather lacklustre, Narcissa thought, as she lay awake in bed that night.  Too much pink.  Not enough Lucius.  She needed Lucius.  Lucius.  Lucius.  _Now_.  That was it.  Dark Lord or no Dark Lord, she was bringing her husband back to bed where he belonged.  Narcissa got up and headed downstairs.  Time to find her man.

 *

"Well," said Lucius.

"Well," said Voldemort.

"I guess that's it."

"Indeed.  Do you consider it a success?"

"Undoubtedly, my Lord.  Doubtlessly the best makeover I've ever performed.  Without a doubt."

Lucius was dithering, and he knew it.  Unfortunately, Voldemort's appearance was not the most conducive for intelligent thought.  The Dark Lord looked _good_, yes, but only to a limited definition of 'good'.  Certainly not 'good', in relation to how a Dark Lord should look.  The lotion-darkened skin combined with blond hair (Voldemort decided he wanted a change) and the baby-blue eyes were not the typical face one pictured a professional Villain to have.

But, Lucius decided, it was the best they could do.  And so it _would _do.

"Come, my Lord, we must show my wife."

"Of course, Lucius.  Lead the way."

*

Narcissa had just entered the Top Secret Underground Library when the secret passage down to the cosmetics room opened before her.  Lucius stepped in, momentarily blinded after the gloom of the passage.  In an instant, a pair of very dexterous hands were all over his body, and hungry lips were attached to his own.

"Hello, Narcissa," said Lucius.

Narcissa kissed him again, then pushed him against a bookshelf.  "You've been gone for _three days_," she said.

"Three days?" 

"And eighteen hours!"

"Really?  My, my, how time flies when you're having fun."

"Well, darling, let's go prove that right now, shall we?" Narcissa said, tugging at her husband's hand.

"Ah, not just yet, sugar pie."

"Why not?"

"_Because_, our lord is still here—oh damn it, he's too shy to come out…"  Lucius turned to go back into the passage.

Narcissa reached out and seized one of her husband's body parts.

Lucius stood very still, and swallowed.  "Darling?"

"Yes, dear?"

"You have your hands on my…" Lucius glanced back into the passageway, where the Dark Lord was in hearing range, and listening with interest.  "…On my wand."

"So I do."

"I never thought I would say this, but, could you please remove your hands?"

"Not until it becomes an anatomical impossibility, dear."

"Oh.  Was I gone that long?"

"Yes.  And if you make me wait any longer, I'll rip your robes off right here."

"In that case, my darling, lead the way.  I am ready and anxious to follow."

Voldemort has been waiting in the secret passageway, partly out of voyeurism, and partly because he was feeling very self-conscious about his appearance.  When he heard the sound of his host's footsteps retreating he realised it was now or never.

"I'm coming out!" he called.

Lucius and Narcissa back-pedalled rather reluctantly.  The Dark Lord slowly emerged from his long make-over session.

Narcissa stared with a stunned horror.  "Oh.  Very… nice," she eventually said.  "A vast improvement, I'm sure.  You've gone blond, I see?  Suits you.  Very brave to choose a hair colour lighter than your skin."

Voldemort preened.

"So I suppose you've finished, then?" Narcissa said.  "Excellent.  Wonderful.  Stunning.  Come on, Lucius."

"Just a minute, darling.  Don't be rude.  I must say goodbye to the Dark Lord."

Narcissa pouted.  "Very well.  I shall be waiting upstairs.  Naked.  Covered in whipped cream."

"I shall keep that very firmly in mind, dear."

Lucius led Voldemort to the Apparating room.  

"Well, my Lord.  I am glad our endeavours have been successful."

"Thank you for your help, Lucius.  I know that I can rely upon your discretion in this matter."

"As in all things, my Lord."

"Good."

There was a pause.  "Lucius, your wife is very… enthusiastic."

"Yes," Lucius said.  He was silent a moment before saying, "I think she's a nymphomaniac, honestly."

"Oh.  That must be a terrible burden for you."

"No, not really," Lucius replied cheerfully.  "I'm rather enjoying it."

Both men pondered nymphomania in silence for a moment.  Lucius' thoughts were a little more pressing.

"So, er, if there's nothing else, I'll just go join my wife, shall I?"

"Yes, I shan't detain you any longer.  Goodbye, Lucius."

The farewell fell on empty air.  Lucius was already disappearing up the stairs to his bedroom, pulling off his robes as he ran.  Voldemort Disapparated at the same moment Lucius appeared in the bedroom, breathless.

"Darling, you kept me waiting for a very long time," Narcissa purred from the bed.  "Three days and eighteen hours since we last made love."

"I'm so sorry.  How can I ever make it up to you?"

"You could start by coming here."

*

The sun set for the fourth time.  Narcissa was not sure how the sun performed.  Her husband's performance was far too spectacular.

"Well," she said sleepily, "I suppose I shall forgive you now.  But three days and eighteen hours!"

"My poor darling," Lucius murmured into her hair, "How ever did you survive?"

Narcissa stretched luxuriously.  "They do say that a wand is a witch's best friend…"

~fin.

Thank you to all my reviewers.  Your comments are really appreciated, and put me in an instant good mood.  I hope everyone enjoyed this extra, slightly naughtier  chapter.  

Happy New Year to everyone. =)


End file.
